


What You've Got is Gold

by kelleigh (girlfromcarolina)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 2012 Summer Olympics, Alternate Universe, Lifeguards, M/M, Overuse of Water Terms, Swimming, Switching, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-29
Updated: 2012-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:28:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlfromcarolina/pseuds/kelleigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working as a lifeguard at the Dallas Aquatic Center, Jared deals with obnoxious kids, tends to scrapes and bruises, gets plenty of exercise hauling equipment in and out every day, and rescues world champion swimmers from drowning. Yeah, not even Jared saw that last one coming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What You've Got is Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Rona ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine. It's sappy in places, cheesy in others, with fine threads of angst to keep it all tied together. Generally, just a story to make you smile. And yes, I describe things in terms of 'water' and 'pools' way too much ;)

It’s not Jared’s job to watch Jensen Ackles. 

_Technically_ it is, because Jared’s a lifeguard working at the Dallas Aquatic Center’s 50 meter pool, and the safety of everyone in and around the massive, blue well of chlorine is his responsibility. But Jensen’s different; he’s been swimming for as long as Jared’s been alive and the chances are scanter than some of the bikinis worn during the pool’s rec sessions that someone like Jensen will need Jared’s services.

So Jared doesn’t need to keep an eye on Jensen, but he does it anyway.

Like a renowned dancer, Jensen is compelling to watch when he’s in the water, fluid and graceful, and Jared’s gaze is constantly drifting over to the near lanes where Jensen and the rest of Jeff Morgan’s Aquatic Club are practicing.

Jensen had raced out of obscurity and into stardom at last year’s World Championships in China where the twenty-five year old swept the breaststroke races. Ever since, with the games of the 30th Olympiad looming, Jensen had become one of the swimming’s fresh faces even though his age suggested his career ought to be tapering off. A handsome boy from Texas, he’d charmed his fans and the media, throwing plenty of ‘y’alls’ and good humor into his interviews. After his headlining performance in China, Jensen made it crystal clear to competitors around the world that his sights were set on double Olympic gold in London; he’d come home to Dallas to train hard towards that goal. And Jared had the privilege of watching—every lap, every whip-fast, two-handed turn, and every start—during his lifeguarding shifts.

But nothing, not even his training, could prepare him for what happens this afternoon.

With club swimmers in the water for the majority of the afternoon, Jared becomes more of a spectator. When he’s not watching Jensen dolphin-kick through the water, he’s scanning the far lanes where a handful of barely-teens are goofing off under the blocks, their instructor oblivious at the other end of the pool. Closer to the lifeguard stand, the elite swimmers from Morgan’s club are in the middle of their warm-downs—constant, easy laps of the pool meant to drain lactic acid from their muscles and prevent injury—and Jared spots Jensen again ten or so yards away from his chair. The star swimmer is leaning on the side of the pool, caught beneath the narrow shadow cast by the starting block. Jensen’s fingers maintain a loose grip on the wall, his feet barely treading water.

Jensen’s alone, his amber-colored Swedes pushed up on his forehead, staring at something on the deck only he can see. For a moment he floats loose-limbed, appearing relaxed, but in the next instant he sinks below the water, fingers falling away from the wall. Jared immediately begins the descent from his perch a few yards above the deck, eyes on the ripple where Jensen went under. Halfway down the ladder, Jensen pops back to the surface and takes a breath, but Jared doesn’t stop.

By the time Jared’s feet hit the deck, Jensen has disappeared again, and yet no one but Jared seems to have noticed. Jared blows a lungful of air through his whistle, sees a dozen pairs of eyes turn his way. Katie, the other lifeguard, begins moving around the pool but Jared’s closer, diving into the water ten meters from where he last saw Jensen’s upper body. Jared’s half-expecting Jensen to surface by the time he closes the distance—this is a world-class swimmer, after all—but Jared’s gut keeps him moving. He never ignores instinct.

Jared’s training tells him to swallow his panic, push it down where it can’t interfere with what he needs to do to save a life, but a small amount escapes and burns at the back of his throat when he swims up and finds Jensen limp in the water. The swimmer’s head is a foot below the surface, facial muscles slack. Jared’s used to seeing struggling swimmers flail and sputter, trying to claw their way towards oxygen as their fingers fail to find purchase in the water. The way Jensen just seems to drop without a fight is much more alarming, as if the swimmer’s body is beyond his control.

But that’s where Jared comes in—his strong strokes carry him quickly to Jensen’s side where he hooks his arms beneath Jensen’s shoulders and kicks up with his legs until they both break the surface. Adrenaline’s coursing through Jared’s body, supplying his muscles with an extra push that allows him to pull Jensen to the side of the pool. And through the madness and shouting (needless to say, people are paying attention now), Jared sends a silent thanks up into the clear, blue sky that he can feel a heartbeat where his arms are locked across Jensen’s chest.

“Jared!” Katie’s shouting, her bronzed arms flung wide trying to keep other swimmers and gawkers from crowding too close. “CPR?”

Jared manages to sputter out, “I can feel a pulse!” as he and Katie work to pull and lift Jensen out of the water, a task made even more strenuous as Jensen spasms and starts coughing. “Help me get him sitting up,” he adds, letting Katie support Jensen’s weight as Jared hauls himself onto the deck. Jensen’s body is wracked with tremors as his lungs suck in air, Jared pressed against his back to prevent him from collapsing and hurting himself on the rough deck. Jared knows he’s saying _something_ to the swimmer—nervous babble to prevent panic on both their parts—but he’ll never be able to recall the exact words.

“Let me through. Jensen!”

Jared recognizes Jeff Morgan’s voice and the sound of the coach elbowing his way through the gathered crowd. His shadow blanks Jared and Jensen, fear tightening his scruffy features.

“What the hell happened?” Jeff demands, shouldering past Katie and dropping right next to Jensen. “Did he hit his head?”

“Sir—” Katie tries to corral him, but Jeff refuses to be moved. “Mr. Morgan?”

“Someone needs to tell me why my best swimmer nearly _drowned_ just now!”

With his palm spread on Jensen’s chest to encourage steady, even breathing, Jared whips around to face the coach. “Give him some space! He’s gonna be okay, he just needs to catch his breath.” As he says it, he can feel the pace of Jensen’s begin to settle. Jared takes one deep breath after another, hoping Jensen can feel the rhythm and match it unconsciously.

Jeff isn’t discouraged; Jared imagines that if he were a coach with so much riding on one swimmer, he’d be beyond calming, too.

“Did you see what happened?” Jeff tries again, voice on a more even keel.

Jared relays what he saw in short, to-the-point sentences. Jensen looked lightheaded; no trauma to his head; underwater for less than thirty seconds. Jared is already working on a theory, but Jeff doesn’t give him a chance to share.

“Jensen? Jen?” Jeff crouches closer. “Can you look at me?”

Jared is surprised that when Jensen finally responds, he doesn’t look at his coach. Instead, he sinks back into Jared’s supposed-to-be-clinical hold and lets out a long breath. Jared winces at the wet rattle of it, but composes a quick prayer of gratitude in his mind.

Katie, who’s been waving the other swimmers away since Jeff muscled past her, speaks up and asks, “Should I call an ambulance?” She gets echoing ‘no’s from Jensen and Jeff.

“Are you getting enough sleep?” Jeff fires off, and Jared is tempted to shove him into the pool. “Did you push too hard in the weight room this morning? What about your muscles—did they seize up?”

“No,” Jensen wheezes. “I just—”

Jared brings his mouth to Jensen’s ear. “Have you eaten today?” he asks, and isn’t all that surprised when Jensen glances back over his shoulders and shakes his head. All muscle, and without a spare ounce of fat, Jensen’s capable of burning thousands of calories during his workouts; with no fuel in his system, it was only a matter of time before his body reached critical levels.

“Of all the…” Jeff groans. “You haven’t eaten?”

“Guess I forgot,” Jensen mutters, trying to shrug. Jared lets up on his hold, helping Jensen sit up more fully.

“How could you forget?” Jeff asks. “You should be _living_ your routine by now! The trials are less than a month away, and you’re _forgetting_ that you need to eat? That’s fucking ridiculous, Jensen.”

Jared’s shocked at the vehemence of Jeff’s frustration. Yeah, the coach isn’t famous for giving off warm fuzzies, but Jensen’s an adult, and Jared’s not used to seeing people his age be torn down like this. So he butts in.

“I’ve got some oranges and Gatorade in the break-room,” Jared offers. “Probably a good idea to get you into the shade, too, Jensen. Take it easy for a little while.”

“I can take care—”

Jensen interrupts his coach and turns towards Jared. “Snacks sound great. Help me up, dude?”

~~~

The break-room is a corner carved out from the larger pool equipment space. Katie had donated a mini-fridge and Jared found seven pieces of patio furniture at a yard sale. Bit by bit, with the other lifeguards adding cushions, a stereo, and a microwave, it’s surprisingly comfortable, and gives them a wide view of the pool through a tinted window.

“Sit anywhere you want,” Jared says, cleaning magazines off the two-seater. He hands Jensen a bottle of Gatorade and a Power Bar grabbed from his cubby in the staff cabinet.

“Thanks, Jared.”

It’s the first time Jensen’s used his name, and Jared stumbles a step as he’s heading towards the fridge for oranges. He sets the whole pile on the table by Jensen’s knee.

“Do you want another towel?” Jared asks. They’re both sporting bright, extra-large towels around their shoulders, but there’s a stack of clean spares on one of the chairs.

“I’m used to being wet.” Jensen’s voice remains on the weak side. Halfway through the Gatorade, Jensen stops for a breath and picks up an orange, peeling the fruit with water-pruned fingers. He eats slowly, juice smearing over his lips as he relaxes into the second-hand cushions. 

“So, you know my name,” Jensen comments after finishing half the orange.

“Come on, you know you’re pretty famous,” Jared says. “Especially around here. I actually follow you on Twitter,” he admits, face red enough to cover the blush he feels creeping up. “I’m surprised you know _my_ name.”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re the guy who always sets out my equipment. Plus you’re here every day and I’ve heard your name enough times for it to stick.”

“I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

“I’ve seen a lot of lifeguards come and go at this pool, but you’re the first one who’s ever cared to learn the way I like things, and then to actually do it for me…” Jensen shakes his head, hair spiked and dripping. “That’s pretty cool of you.”

The flush is fighting to cover Jared’s entire face now, so he covers by tossing back a little flirtation of his own. “I bet I’m also the first guard to drag your ass out of the pool.”

Jensen smirks. “Nope. Back when I was seven, I hit my head on the side of the pool and went all woozy. The guard got to me before my dad could jump in the water.” Eyeing Jared from the arch of his tanned feet to the damp mop of messy waves around his face, Jensen adds, “But he was nowhere near as hot as you, so this rescue’s gonna stand out in my mind a lot more.”

Jensen takes another sip of Gatorade as if nothing out of the ordinary was said. The press has been dogging Jensen with questions about his sexuality since the World Championship meet, and there’s been no shortage of childhood friends or college acquaintances willing to weigh in with speculation. But as soon as an article surfaces claiming Jensen Ackles is gay, another makes a splash giving the opposite opinion. But it seems like Jared’s been handed insider information from the man himself. And since Jensen put it out there…

“You’re gay?”

Jensen grins, color coming back to his cheeks. “I can swim more than one stroke, dude.”

“Cute,” Jared scoffs.

“Think so?”

“I’m downgrading you like a bad credit rating right now.”

“Fancy talk,” Jensen says before he pops another orange slice. “So the lifeguarding’s just a part-time thing?”

“Summer thing,” Jared supplies. “It pays more than some internship would.”

“I’d say you’re pretty good at it, considering what just happened.”

Before Jared can censor himself, he asks, “Did you really forget to eat?”

The swimmer’s expression flips from open to closed, undoubtedly hearing echoes of his coach’s ire. “I guess so,” he says, “not that I meant to, or anything. But between the routine Jeff’s got me on, my family asking about the trials, and my training…I don’t know, something was bound to fall through the cracks.” Jensen looks over. “Good thing you were there to catch me.”

“I could never forget to eat,” Jared quickly responds, trying to cover his embarrassment. “I love food, like, so freaking much. I mean, all day I’ve been thinking about going out to dinner tonight and getting some classic barbecue. Brisket, pulled pork, cornbread, cinnamon apples”—Jared moans—“the works.”

“Dude,” Jensen cuts into Jared’s food pornography, “that sounds amazing. What time are we going?”

Jared stammers, his brain swimming to catch up. “Um…”

“What? Is your date gonna mind?” Jensen asks, grinning as Jared stumbles through his explanation of how, no, he doesn’t have a date, he was just planning on going by himself. Because he’s been craving barbecue. A lot. Which probably sounds stupid, but sometimes Jared’s lifeguard shifts are so boring that he only makes it through by thinking about what he’s going to eat for dinner. 

At that point, Jared’s relieved when Jensen interrupts his ramble. “Then what’s the issue?”

“None, I guess,” Jared admits. “If you want to go…”

“Didn’t I just sit through a lecture and a half from Jeff about eating and my routine?”

“Somehow I don’t think he’d approve of beef brisket.”

“Screw Jeff,” Jensen scoffs, leaning back on the patio furniture and, _hello_! Now that Jared’s brain has disengaged from life-saving mode and entered standby-for-a-potential-date mode, he finally notices what Jensen’s wearing. Nothing. Or practically nothing, because the emerald Speedo suit he’s sporting covers as much as a postage stamp. A scrap of fabric over his crotch, toned thighs spread out and enticing Jared’s gaze down towards that green swell. Skimpy compared to Jared’s blindingly red trunks. Jared’s brain also registers that neither of them are wearing shirts, just towels that have wicked away the water from their shoulders and backs, and that this is the most naked he’s been with another man since he broke up with Dylan during the fall semester. (Jared tends not to stick around his hookups long enough to care about getting them entirely naked.)

“I mean”—right, Jensen is in the middle of a rant—“Jeff’s plan sucks. His routine is supposed to be improving my times, but I’ve actually gotten slower. So if I want to derail myself, gorge on some fucking ribs, and flirt with the guy who saved my life, I’m damn well gonna!”

There’s no question that Jensen has recovered from his episode, but Jared doesn’t anticipate the swimmer getting back in the pool anytime today. He says as much, and Jensen confirms it, muttering something about heading back to his apartment for more food, a nap, and video games. Silence ensues for a few seconds—the splashes and calls from beyond the window barely seem to matter—before Jared clears his throat. 

He thinks, why not go for it?

“So, do you want to meet me at Alvin’s or should I pick you up?”

~~~

Jensen pushes his macaroni and cheese across the table where Jared’s ready with his fork.

“Seriously, where are you putting all that?” he asks, watching Jared spear a mound of cheesy elbow noodles.

“Takes a lot to fill this body,” Jared teases, rubbing a hand over his nearly-full stomach. He clears the macaroni in three bites, ignoring Jensen’s brow-peaked stare. “I think I’m good.”

“Awesome, because if you needed any more food, they’d have to go out and slaughter another cow.”

Belly sated for the time being, Jared stretches out along his side of the booth, eyeing their empty plates. The employees of the order-and-sit BBQ joint are all behind the counter, not doing much to earn their hourly wages, but only a handful of tables are occupied and no one’s walked in for almost half an hour. Jared thought there was a chance Jensen would be recognized, but so far their meal’s gone uninterrupted.

And he’s not surprised that he is having a great time hanging out with Jensen. Swimming talk (and talk of Jensen’s rescue, by extension) is kept to a minimum, but their conversation never lacks substance. Jared dishes on some of the lifeguard gossip that hasn’t reached Jensen’s ears and they both reminisce about growing up as true Texas boys. Once the last crumbs of sweet cornbread have been gathered up and licked from tangy fingers, Jensen brings up the events of that afternoon.

“I hope no one recorded it on their phones or anything,” Jensen says. “I’d look pretty stupid, right? Drowning when I’m supposed to be a gold medal threat.”

“I didn’t notice, but I was kinda distracted,” Jared teases, “hauling your ass out of the water.”

“And I’ve been told it’s an awesome ass, so thank you for saving it.”

Jared laughs, doubly glad that Jensen isn’t famous enough to draw attention. That anonymity won’t survive beyond the Olympic trials though. Swimming is one of those sports where the stars are featured everywhere during coverage: commercials, feel-good documentary segments, magazine spreads, and interviews. Jensen will be a household name soon enough. But tonight he’s all Jared’s and advantage will be taken.

“Back to practice as usual tomorrow?”

Jensen groans. “Jeff would never let me get away with skipping. Not that I’d want to, really.”

“Because you pretty much live in that pool.”

“Yeah, and I love it,” Jensen says. “But Jeff’s routine is like being on lockdown. Pool, gym, rest—that’s all I get. Everything’s restricted down to the last details. How much I can sleep, what I can eat, how many reps I do in the gym. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy told me how many times I’m allowed to jack off every week.”

Jared barely avoids spraying his Coke out of his nose. It’s close; his nostrils are burning.

“The thing is,” Jensen continues after pausing to make sure Jared can breathe, “I think it’s hurting my times. I didn’t control myself nearly as much before this year, but I used to feel better. I mean, Jeff would _flip_ if he knew I was here, eating this, instead of, I don’t know, meditating on my stroke count or something. I’ve been going crazy. And this”—he gestures across the table—“feels really good.”

The way Jensen’s looking at him lights a fire under Jared’s skin. He feels the heat in his cheeks and all the way down the back of his neck.

“Enough about that, though,” Jensen says, pushing his empty tray towards the center of the table. “You ready to get out of here?”

Jensen had taken Jared up on his earlier offer of a ride, and they make it back to the swimmer’s apartment in less than ten minutes. On the verge of thanking Jensen for a surreal day, the words stick in Jared’s throat when Jensen asks him up for a drink.

“You’ll have to settle for root beer or Gatorade,” he adds with a smirk. “Jeff would slaughter me if I even thought about alcohol.”

“This isn’t some bizarre way of thanking me for pulling you out today, is it?” Jared asks once they’re inside, angled towards each other on the couch in Jensen’s living room. The swimmer had grabbed them each a root beer—the classy kind in bottles—before sitting down, and Jared finds himself fidgeting with the thick, cold glass.

“Buying dinner was the ‘thank you,’” Jensen tells him. “ _This_ is my way of telling Jeff to fuck his routine, because this is something I want.”

Before Jared can ask what ‘this’ implies, Jensen pops the bubble of personal space and leans in, so close his features begin to blur. Sensing the imminent kiss, Jared’s instincts outpace his thoughts and his eyes close; the last thing he sees is a set of full lips poised in a perfect tilt.

Jensen is eager—like, crazy eager, Jared thinks—plunging his tongue into Jared’s mouth as soon as there’s a gap to get through. Wet, warm, and moving so quickly his tongue might create a whirlpool; the kiss remains fierce until Jared’s brain screams, _first kiss, moron_ , and attempts to rein things in. Jensen appears to enjoy the slower, more thorough exploration, and before Jared knows it, Jensen’s practically in his lap pinning the cold bottle of root beer against Jared’s chest. He gasps.

“What?” Jensen mutters. “No?”

“Yeah—I mean _yes_ ,” Jared says as soon as his mouth is free to form words. “Just gotta set this down.”

The flash of panic washes out of Jensen’s expression and Jared enthusiastically gathers the swimmer back into his arms. And he laughs, a short burst of sound, because he’s making out with Jensen Ackles, international breaststroke phenomenon.

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Now what?”

“Nothing. It’s just crazy because I’ve kinda—”

“You’ve ‘kinda’ jerked off while thinking about me?” Jensen teases. “Oh my god, you have! Haven’t you?”

Jared has; he’d retrieved an image of Jensen from his fantasy file between the end of his lifeguard shift and dinner, needing something to work out the extra adrenaline. He’d pictured Jensen in that green Speedo suit, flexing muscle-wrapped arms as he pulled himself out of the pool—the homoerotic version of the infamous _Fast Times_ scene. Water pouring from sculpted shoulders, fat drops running fast and frictionless down Jensen’s smooth, hairless torso…

Jensen laughs, slapping Jared’s chest. “You’re totally picturing me naked right now.”

“Well, not entirely naked.”

“Still,” Jensen pouts, “it’s not fair to drift when you have me right here. If you can’t figure out what to do with a _real_ boy, I guess I can just—ah!”

Jared bowls Jensen over onto the cushions, effectively sticking a cork in his back-sass.

“Much better,” Jensen says with the only breath Jared permits him before they’re kissing again.

Jared tastes chlorine on Jensen’s skin (permanently soaked in at this point, he imagines) as he skims his mouth down Jensen’s throat. Jensen moves beneath him like a wave—confident as if he’s following a game plan and wants to keep Jared on course. Not that Jared intends on straying; he’s discovering that reality far exceeds fantasy. Jensen’s body is pulse-stopping, easily the most spectacular of any man Jared’s hooked up with. He’s fucked a number of good-lookers, guys whose muscles outnumbered their brain cells, but nothing about the cut of Jensen’s body is for show. Primed, not a spare ounce of fat, and every inch of flesh and sinew toned for a purpose.

Jared had admired the fit of Jensen’s jeans when he picked him up for dinner, but he barely spares them a thought as he strips them from Jensen’s legs.

“Fuck yeah,” Jensen moans when Jared gets a hand between his legs. “That’s what I wanted.”

“Yeah?” Jared doesn’t know why he’s asking; Jensen’s body telegraphs everything he feels, wants. Flush spreading to where he wants Jared’s touch. Hand flexing at the small of Jared’s back, guiding him into a gentle rut. Spine locking for a split-second when Jared’s fingers play teasingly behind his balls—a silent warning. “That’s not part of your routine?” He means it as a joke, but Jensen growls out a few less-than-flattering words about his coach. Jared laughs in the face of his irritation. “Don’t worry, there are plenty of other things I can do to you.”

“ _To_ me?” Jensen snorts. “You want me to just lie here and take it?”

“It’d be a hell of a disappointment if you did.” Jared smirks, but he means it. Nights come where he’s in the mood for a no-strings, no-effort (and no-conversation if he’s lucky) encounter, but this isn’t one of those occasions. And Jensen is _not_ that kind of guy, energy sparking as soon as they’re both naked, sliding against one another. Jared’s unwilling to vacate his spot between Jensen’s thighs, already addicted to the long lines of muscle. Tempted to bite, mark, own that sun-bathed skin, but doubting Jensen would want to wear the evidence to practice tomorrow. So he touches, shapes, and kneads with his hands, cups one palm around Jensen’s cock and drowns him in friction. Between getting Jensen off and listening to what Jensen has to say about his body, Jared’s grinning like an idiot (albeit a very turned-on idiot).

“Jesus,” Jensen praises. “I love your arms. So fuckin’ tight and strong. Bet you could hold me up while—” The rest is smothered under the pressure of his orgasm. Driving his hips into Jared’s grip as if he’s driving into the wall at practice—hard and unrelenting until he just stops and lets his body melt. Jared’s too close for Jensen’s sudden immobility to matter, thrusting against the chiseled cut of Jensen’s hip-line one more time before he comes.

That was _amazing_.

“Tens for execution,” Jensen mutters, sinking into the cushions and pulling Jared down with him, “but a few deductions for difficulty.” If Jensen weren’t basically giggling at his own joke, Jared would be offended. “I mean hand jobs and grinding? That’s for teenagers.”

“I’ve got all night,” Jared says, lips already finding their way back up Jensen’s throat, “if you wanna graduate to something a little more mature.” He kisses Jensen silent, drawing warmth from his responsive mouth. “That is if your ‘routine’ allows it.”

Jensen scoffs, squirming and pushing to reverse their positions. “I don’t give a fuck what Jeff thinks,” he says from atop Jared’s chest, “sex is good for me.”

Jared likes hearing that and he shows Jensen just how much with his next kiss, breaking out techniques he’d put into mental storage months ago when Dylan left; he hadn’t bothered making an effort with his glittery strand of club boys. Jensen, he wants to impress. He wants more than tonight, and his heart thumps happily in behind his ribs when Jensen breaks away from the kiss and whispers, “I think I need to add you to my routine.”

~~~

‘Routine’ or not, their hook-ups don’t follow a pattern. As a result of having so much on his mind, there’s no telling when the urge will take Jensen, but since Jared’s primed for him just about _all_ the time, the arrangement works.

The first time they end up together at the aquatic center, Jared’s in the break-room reapplying his sunblock when Jensen sneaks in. There’s no lock, but Jared figures Katie wouldn’t have missed Jensen going in so he figures they’ve got fifteen minutes, tops, before she comes a knockin’.

Several details hit Jared at once: they’re alone—Katie, the coaches and assistants are all out on the deck; it’s been a solid thirty-six hours since they’ve been able to do so much as make out and Jared is _dying_ for something; fifteen minutes is plenty to work with. But the most important detail is that Jensen is _dripping wet_ , fat drops making his skin shine in the light from the window. Jensen’s panting as if he’d stopped mid-workout to corner Jared in the break-room, lips open and moist, hair slicked back and sporting furrows from his fingers running through it. Only a few square inches of soaking wet fabric stand between Jared and that God-given masterpiece of a body, and there’s no time to waste.

“Gonna stare all day?” Jensen is brazen, standing without shame while water pools around his feet. Voice strong unlike the last time Jared and Jensen were in here together. Jared can only sputter, replacing the sunblock in his bag before he squeezes the dumb thing to death.

“Um…”

“Did the sun fry your brain?”

Jared shakes his thoughts back into place. _Damn_ , Jensen’s thighs-hips-waist-shoulders-lips are lethal to his brain cells. “If you walked in here just to insult me, feel free to turn around,” Jared says, and he can feel how deep his dimples are.

Jensen’s suddenly a lot closer, cornering Jared behind the two-seater. “A little sensitive, huh? And here I thought we could have some fun before your break’s over.”

Curving his palms over Jensen’s shoulders, Jared pushes him down to the floor. “If you don’t stop running your mouth—”

“Someone’s gonna come along and stick their dick in it?” Jensen winks.

“Exactly.”

Jared’s had the pleasure of sucking Jensen off twice now, but this is the first time the swimmer has returned the favor. Jensen makes short work of Jared’s red trunks, wrangling them just low enough to let his cock swing out. Flailing a bit at the first touch of cool lips to heated skin, Jared barely manages to grab the towel he’d slung over the back of the loveseat, tossing it down to serve as a mat between Jensen’s knees and the concrete floor. (Aside from tugging Jared’s hair into a freakish mess, Jensen’s a considerate receiver, and Jared intends to behave the same way.) 

Randomly, Jared thinks it’s a good thing Jensen hasn’t sucked him off before now; if he’d experienced Jensen’s mouth earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything else. He’d always assumed blowjobs were blowjobs, but what Jensen’s doing requires a different classification altogether. On enthusiasm alone, Jensen’s technique outstrips that of Jared’s exes and one-night encounters. 

Jensen gives head the same way he kisses, engines revved and no possibility of holding back. Maybe it’s the constraint of time, but Jensen doesn’t bother teasing Jared with coy kitten licks or lowered lashes; his mouth is open and wet, warm exhales from his nose hitting Jared’s skin. It’s easy to drown in the spit-thick, choking sounds Jensen’s making, roll over his tongue and press deep. The entire encounter is more pleasure-spiking than if Jensen had taken his cock like a polished pro; he struggles but is intent on swallowing Jared down to his short-hairs. When he finally does—Jared’s dick claiming virgin territory at the back of Jensen’s throat—fucking _anthems_ start playing in Jared’s head. Frankly, Jared’s embarrassed at how little it takes before his cock is over-filled and heavy, and he’s begging like crazy for Jensen to have mercy and finish him off.

Which Jensen does, and not even the white-hot strike of orgasm blinds Jared to the smirk on Jensen’s face. _God damn bastard_. Jensen tightens his lips again and Jared’s inner cursing is lost to another full-body quake.

Jared’s knees are the consistency of Jello and he has to lean his hip against the two-seater while he refastens his shorts. The canary is nowhere to be seen but the feline satisfaction is all over Jensen’s face as he stands and swipes his tongue over the divot in his bottom lip. Jared had (unconsciously) done a number on the swimmer’s short hair leaving the strands half-dry and tousled, raised in rows the width of Jared’s fingers. 

And apparently the blowjob had been to Jensen’s satisfaction as well, Jared notes while looking down. “You can’t go out there with that in your Speedo.”

Jensen palms himself, middle and pointer fingers pressing up behind his balls through the Lycra, and says, “We still have five minutes.”

~~~

They christen Jared’s apartment a week after their barbecue date. Going to Jensen’s place is easier, but Jared has imagined more than one scenario involving Jensen and his furniture/shower/living room rug, so he eventually insists on a change of scenery. Of course, he hadn’t figured on Jensen picking up pictures, snooping through desk drawers, and scrutinizing his DVD shelves as soon as they’d polished off the Italian subs Jared stopped for on his way back from the pool. (He’d made it his personal mission to ensure Jensen was as well-fed and non-fainty as possible.)

“I never pegged you as the nosy type,” Jared says, eyes stuck on Jensen as he’s disturbing dust bunnies around Jared’s DVDs.

Jensen doesn’t turn around when he replies, “I’m getting to know you. Or should I only want you for your body?”

“My body wouldn’t mind.”

“Shocking,” Jensen laughs. “Who’d have thought the freakin’ male swimsuit model could be so shallow?”

“Wait,” Jared says, “are you calling me the model?”

“No, I’m talking about the other bronzed God who walks around all day in swim trunks and uses expensive conditioner.”

Fine, Jared can admit that he budgets for certain salon products, but look at the results! “I thought you liked my hair.”

Jensen tosses a grin over his shoulder and continues prying. Not all that worried about what the swimmer might find, Jared throws away the pile of wax paper and napkins left over from dinner and grabs two bottles of water from the fridge. There’s a crack on Jared’s tongue about making sure Jensen’s good and hydrated before the sex commences, but he swallows it when he sees the DVD Jensen’s holding. The barely-decent smirk on his face, lips bitten to keep from laughing, tells the story.

Jensen shakes the case. “Seriously?”

“Dude,” Jared scoffs, “you can’t tell me you’ve never done yoga.”

“Yes, Jared. Yes I can. Yoga’s for chicks—”

“There are guys in all my classes—”

“—and for people who are too lazy to do real exercise—”

“—it’s a great way to elongate your muscles and stay flexible—”

“—and what’s with all the people doing yoga in _parks_?”

“Okay,” Jared says, plucking the DVD from Jensen’s fingers. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ll just have to show you.”

“Come on, you can’t tell me you actually do this stuff.”

Jared’s jeans are loose around his waist, fibers soft from years of summer wear. Not the most comfortable yoga attire, but it’ll pass in the short term; Jared doesn’t imagine this will be a long demonstration. At least he’s wearing a tight v-neck—that’ll give Jensen a show.

“Show me the downward dog,” Jensen teases. “That one sounds pretty interesting.”

Without responding, Jared takes a deep breath through his nose and begins his own routine, one he’d developed between classes. Instructors were great and all, but Jared knew his body—knew what it needed—and he’d pieced together a few sessions for optimal reward. He’s even taught one or two classes when the instructors were unavailable. 

Jared opens his chest, ignores Jensen’s pin-prick comments, and shifts his weight to his right leg. So used to the movements, he visualizes the pull in his muscles, adjusts until he’s perfectly balanced. And then he bends over, grin already in place when he hears Jensen’s quickly drawn breath.

“Damn.” The rest is garble coming out of Jensen’s mouth as Jared executes a handful of his most provocative (and ridiculously flexible) moves. “Okay, okay, you win,” he admits breathlessly as Jared’s bent in half, palms out and heels digging into the floor, demonstrating exactly how interesting downward dog can be. “Yoga can definitely be awesome.”

Jensen all but tackles Jared as soon as he’s standing on two feet again. Keyed up and panting, his hands grope Jared in a frenzy. Considering this is Jensen’s inaugural visit to his apartment, they’re lucky to make it to the couch with Jensen steering blind. Jared’s mouth is on top of Jensen’s, adding pressure until his tongue slips through and comes away with the taste of sweet peppers and olive oil. They kiss as the tumble in a clumsy heap onto the cushions, breaking apart only to seek each other’s lips as soon as they’re down.

Getting naked would take too long and Jensen’s not exactly swimming in patience, so they focus on the essentials: pants off, underwear shoved aside for the moment. Jared’s hungry for another taste of Jensen’s cock, and he’s perfectly willing to get on his knees, but as soon as he tries to scoot down, his forehead collides painfully with Jensen’s.

“What the hell, Jared? Trying to kill me?” Jensen shakes off the knock. “Did Kitajima put you up to this?”

“Right,” Jared says, wincing as the throb intensifies and recedes in waves. “Your competition told me to blow you to death.”

Jensen stares. “Huh, I was about to suck _you_ off.”

“Flip a coin for it?” Jared jokes, swallowing at the suddenly sharp gleam in Jensen’s eyes.

“I’ve got a better idea.”

It’s been years since Jared sixty-nined with a guy, and for the life of him, he can’t figure out why it’s been so damn long. Sure there are extra limbs to coordinate (it’s like a threesome; you’ve gotta remember whose leg is where), and his mind can’t wander around boner-town while Jensen does all the work, but it crams the best of everything into one shared act. There’s a cock in Jared’s mouth—Jensen keeps his thrusts shallow because he’s too busy pleasuring Jared to ride his face—and his own dick is racking up some serious frequent flyer miles as it glides over Jensen’s tongue. 

And this way, with Jared flat-backing it underneath Jensen, he’s treated to a spectacular view of Jensen’s ass. He’s seen it in a Speedo countless times, naked and pale on a few occasions since these extracurricular activities began, but never like this: taut, freckled cheeks just begging to be marked up. With teeth, tongue, hands, come—whatever Jensen’s willing to take. Jared might be getting ahead of himself imagining things like that given the aqueous nature of their arrangement, but faced with an ass like Jensen’s (literally), he can’t help it. He can, however, get his hands all over it. Knead those cheeks together as he pushes Jensen’s dick further into his mouth at the same time. No question Jensen appreciates his effort given the way he’s moaning, every little reverberation sent straight down to Jared’s balls.

Jared uses the pads of his fingers to pry at Jensen’s hole, thumbs tapping over the tight muscle. A coded message saying he wants to go further, but won’t until Jensen gives him the verbal green light. That go-ahead never comes while they’re both orally occupied and so close to coming. At least Jared is; it’s as if Jensen’s pulling strings in his hips, tightening everything to the point where there’s no escape, only explosion. His own mouth goes slack at the same time he’s shooting into Jensen’s, and it’s nearly a full minute before he gathers himself enough to re-engage Jensen’s cock, coaxing the swimmer’s orgasm to the surface with a few thorough swirls of his tongue.

“Oh my stars,” Jensen says as he folds down onto Jared’s thighs, both chuckling at his exaggerated drawl. “ _That_ needs to become part of our routine.” That earns him a light slap on the ass (Jared could only resist for so long, honestly) before he wriggles and rolls, tucking himself between Jared and the back of the couch.

“And maybe you’ll give yoga a shot one of these days,” Jared says.

“I’m not bendy enough for you?”

Jared pretends to consider the idea even as the majority of his brain is dealing with the sensation of Jensen’s fingers curling into his t-shirt and remaining there. Nothing on the agenda for the rest of the night, and Jared’s fine with that, even if it means lying here with Jensen, his hand warm over Jared’s heart. _Especially_ if that’s what it means.

Jared turns his smile on Jensen. “Eh, you’ll do.”

~~~

In between hook-ups, Jared and Jensen date. Well, Jared assumes they’re dating (there has been no confirmation from either side). Jensen starts cooking dinner whenever Jared stops by his apartment after a shift at the pool, which is a welcome relief from takeout and the sparse provisions in Jared’s kitchen. They’ve seen two new releases in theaters and Jared’s learned that nothing takes Jensen out of his competition-driven mindset and helps him relax faster than a Pixar movie.

They’ve been getting together for nearly two-and-a-half weeks when the idea really connects with Jared. He hasn’t seen Jensen in three days, but he’s supposed to be on his way over with a calzone from Andretti’s (for Jared) and a spinach salad from Delilah’s Deli (for Jensen). Preparations for the Olympic Trials in Omaha have sliced into their time together, and Jared’s feeling antsy. Nervous and twitchy-fingered in a way he hasn’t felt since he and Dylan swung into the ‘serious’ phase in their relationship.

Jared’s wading deep into that thought when Jensen knocks once on the door and walks in. The swimmer’s expression is so thunderous, it’s a wonder his entrance isn’t preceded by lightning.

“Hey, you made it,” Jared says once Jensen’s dumped his bag on the floor. He takes more care when he sets two bags of food on the counter.

“Almost didn’t,” Jensen grumbles. “I’m surprised Jeff let me leave tonight.” His jaw tightens, words sharpened on his teeth. “If he had his way, I’d be chained to a cot in his office when I’m not swimming.”

“Sounds kinky.”

“Ugh, just no.” Jensen shakes his head and sighs. “Jeff doesn’t think I’m taking my training seriously enough.”

“It’s practically all you think about!” The pitch of Jared’s voice reflects how preposterous he considers the idea to be.

Jensen deflates. “I know. Can we just eat? I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

Implying there could be a ‘later,’ Jared imagines. He nods and grabs plates from the cabinet, setting the counter for two while Jensen stomps into the bathroom.

Conversation is kept in the shallow end throughout dinner, but Jared doesn’t mind so long as every minute that passes drains some of the tension from Jensen’s expression. It’s been three days and he wants to catch up with Jensen; if that means sticking to small talk and avoiding the dark fin circling around them, he’s fine. He likes talking to Jensen as much as any other activity involving their mouths. 

Leaving plates and take-away containers on the counter, Jared and Jensen shift to the couch where, like a dam under pressure, Jensen finally cracks.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna make it ‘til the trials.”

That surprises Jared. “What are you talking about? There’s only a week and a half left until Omaha. Is the pressure getting to be too much?”

“I’ve dealt with the pressure all my life,” Jensen says. He’s been swimming since he was four, so Jared imagines that’s basically true. “I think Jeff’s more worked up about the trials than I am, and he’s been riding me harder and harder. And this week—God—I can barely catch my breath. It’s like Jeff suddenly decided that whatever I was doing wasn’t good enough, that _I’m_ not good enough. I just need him to back off.”

“Did he say something to you this afternoon?” Jared asks. “Is that why you’re upset now?”

“It’s like I told you before—if Jeff could, he’d lock me up to make sure I don’t do anything stupid to ruin my shot at a medal.” Jensen throws his arm over his eyes, head making a dent in the cushion behind him. “No time off, no doing my own thing, no hanging out with you.”

Jared swallows. “Jeff knows about us?”

“I didn’t tell him, but he knows. I swear he’s having me followed,” Jensen adds with muted sarcasm.

“Look,” Jared says, “I don’t want to get between you and your coach—”

“Now _that_ sounds kinky,” Jensen interjects, but then his smile sours. “Oh, gross. Why did I even think that?”

They share a laugh, but Jared’s intent on getting his thoughts out. “Seriously”—it’s hard for Jared to speak around the knot in his throat—“if seeing me is affecting your training…” He can’t finish; maybe this ‘thing’ between them is casual, but that doesn’t mean Jared needs to kick it off a cliff.

Craning his neck, Jensen looks over. Jared’s face is warm; his feelings must be written all over it. Finally, Jensen says, “Nah, it’s got nothing to do with you. Well, not really, but seeing you is, like, one of the only things that’s mine right now, and there’s no way I’m giving that up.”

“As long as you’re not giving up on the Olympics either, man,” Jared tells him. “Because that would be so stupid, you don’t even know.” He nudges Jensen, smile on his face, so that the barb falls softly. He just wants Jensen to relax.

“I’m not. I guess I just need a break, no matter how small it is. And maybe Jeff will lay off me if I make the US team,” Jensen speculates. “At the very least, I’ll be training with the rest of the team somewhere else, with different coaches.”

That’s not exactly something Jared wants to think about so he goes for Plan C (Plan A was getting Jensen to talk about their relationship; Plan B was kissing him to distraction, although that option’s still on the table) and pulls a DVD from the drawer in his coffee table.

“How about a movie?” Jared suggests. “I stole ‘Finding Nemo’ from my niece’s collection.” That’s a lie; this is Jared’s personal copy.

“I’m twenty-five years old,” Jensen says, “and you’re asking me to watch a cartoon?” Poor Jensen, always in denial. Jared holds out the metallic blue case and watches Jensen’s scowl flatten out. Not into a smile, but into something between exhaustion and peace. He waits for the Power of Pixar to cast its spell, rewarded when Jensen slouches back. “Fine, put it in.”

They do not cuddle during the movie, but by the time Nemo’s making friends in the aquarium, Jared and Jensen are sharing the same cushion, aligned from shoulder to hip, each of them turned inward. And Jared feels better than he has in days, weeks, months. Since the last time he floated in a space so easily with another guy. But in less than two weeks, Jensen’s life is going to change forever (unlike Jensen, Jared has no doubt he’ll make the Olympic team), and Jared still has no idea where he ranks. Before tonight, Jared figured he’d be out of the picture for good once Jensen left for Omaha. Now, Jared can’t help thinking he might have a shot at the podium.

~~~

A week races by and too soon, Jensen’s packing for Omaha. Jared thought he’d barely see him, but Jensen carves out the time; they’re together every other night, not to mention flirting with one another at the pool and grabbing quick meals before Jensen’s presence is required at yet another strategy session with Jeff. To say Jared takes advantage of their time is an understatement; he and Jensen cover more distance—emotionally and physically—each night. Two days before Jensen leaves, Jared fucks Jensen for the first time with still-empty suitcases and duffle bags forming a ring around Jensen’s bed.

Fair to say Jared has a reel of pictures like this in his head, but being inside Jensen is more intense than he’d been able to imagine. Jared is no stranger to good sex (sometimes great sex!), but this feels like more: passion and lust and the thrill of a first time magnified by the potential loss Jared is facing.

But, Jared digresses from the sex, and that won’t stand. Because Jensen’s in perfect shape _everywhere_ apparently, ass clamping like a vise around Jared’s cock. He rears up, sways into the anchor of Jared’s palm splayed between his shoulder blades and he’s wearing a circlet of sweat, hair dark and damp at the base of his neck. Gorgeous, taut and slick from exertion, Jensen’s like a wave Jared wants to catch over and over until he collapses at the shore, spent and shaking. But first, Jared will be damned if he comes before fulfilling one more fantasy. Pulling out amidst a low, keening protest, Jared flips Jensen onto his back and waits for the fog to lift from Jensen’s eyes.

“If you stop one more time—”

“What’d I say about threats, Jen?” Jared asks, panting.

Jensen huffs, leg muscles rippling as he opens a valley between his knees. “No idea, but I said I wanted to get fucked, not talked to.”

Jared would extol the virtues of patience but he’s running low as well. This pause is merely an adjustment. “I thought I was doing a damn good job of it.”

“You _were_ , so get back down here and—” Jensen never gets to finish as Jared drives back into his body, enough lube applied during their warm-up that his cock regains depth quickly, seating them together. And finally— _hallelujah!_ —Jared’s in a position to take possession of Jensen’s legs and wrap them around his waist. Knees butterflied wide, Jensen’s thighs inch down until they catch on Jared’s hips and lock. A spread-eagled vista in front of Jared’s eyes, all corded muscle and supple, frictionless skin; Jensen’s cock standing like a mast in rough seas, bobbing into the undulating rhythm. If only Jared could suck and fuck Jensen at the same time (now that’s an image to keep handy when Jensen’s in Omaha), but at 6’4”, he’ll need more than yoga to be able to bend like that.

Jared goes for broke, doing everything in his power to wring an orgasm out of Jensen while they’re connected. Feels like a tryout and he desperately wants a call-back. His thrusts are on target, aided by the fact that Jensen’s body is so open, alternating deep and shallow, and he teases his fingers around Jensen’s erection. Scratching through soft hair (soon to be shaved bare, and Jared can’t even think about that or he’ll lose his _mind_ right now) and kneading around the base.

When Jensen’s close he yanks Jared down into a kiss, tongues chasing each other between their mouths. The kiss gentles, nearly ceases altogether as Jensen comes and he’s left gasping against Jared’s lips while his hands glide restlessly up Jared’s spine and over his shoulders. Between Jensen’s constant, roving touch, the way his breath flutters, and the fantastic pressure of his body gripping Jared’s dick, Jared is powerless to dam his orgasm. He’s so enthralled that he barely feels the condom around him until his elbows turn in and he collapses, pulling out at the same time.

“So you’ve got a thing for my legs,” Jensen says after the inevitably unsexy task of clean-up has been seen to.

“Like that’s a surprise,” Jared teases, dropping back onto Jensen’s bed feeling a little wobbly in the knees. It’s been too long since sex left him this wiped; he enjoys the feeling. “Actually I’ve developed a thing for your arms, too.” He kisses Jensen’s shoulder. And his navel, inner wrist, sternum, and throat, naming them all as he moves up. “Your mouth’s not too bad either,” he finishes, lingering on Jensen’s parted lips.

Jensen smirks but turns his eyes towards the pillow. “Because of what it can do?”

And Jared cannot have moping ruin their first time, so he corrects Jensen. “Because of all the crazy shit you say…and maybe a _little_ bit because of what it does to me,” he adds, craning down for another kiss, this one to shut Jensen up for good. Dignity is inconsequential—Jared won’t allow this future gold-medalist doubt himself for any reason. Hell, protecting Jensen’s ego is practically _patriotic_ at this point. “I’d ask if staying over is against the rules,” Jared says as he wiggles into a comfortable groove in Jensen’s pillowtop mattress, “but I’m not giving you a choice.”

Jensen yawns. “Sleepover guests cook breakfast.”

“Is IHOP acceptable?”

“Ask me in the morning,” Jensen mutters, tugging Jared into a better position for cuddling. While unconsciousness washes over Jensen quickly (no surprise given his exhaustive regimen), Jared lies awake for a long time, trying not to think beyond the bed that remains to be broken in and chocolate chip pancakes in the morning.

~~~

In less than twenty-four hours, Jared goes from treading water to floundering in the emotional deep end.

His plan is to give Jensen one last night of ‘whatever you want’ freedom before the trials—before London and the weeks that are going to change everything. When Jared weighs himself against the medals he knows Jensen’s going to win, publicity, endorsements, and God knows what else, there’s not much he can do to sweeten the pot. Better not to think about it and concentrate on having a good time.

Light, easy fun. At least, that’s the plan. And it starts out well, picking up two home-style chicken dinners on the way back to Jared’s place, queuing up some classic James Bond flicks while they sprawl on the wide couch and talk trivialities, all while Jared thinks about how amazing it’s going to be when Jensen fucks him later. Or right now, apparently, as Jensen crawls into his lap before Agent 007 has seduced his first Bond Girl.

“We haven’t gotten to the good part yet,” Jared says, eyes easily distracted from the flatscreen in favor of Jensen’s sudden takeover.

“This is the good part,” replies Jensen just before their lips meet with a sweetness Jared can only savor for a moment before it hardens into something more desperate. Jared’s tongue is quickly drawn into the action, sweeping behind Jensen’s teeth after pushing forward. It’s a kiss that could never end, making Jared feel so good, but arousal has a way of, well, getting in the way, and once Jensen starts undulating over his groin, Jared has to break away with a gasp.

“Okay,” he says, “screw the movie. Let’s take this to my bedroom—”

“Jared.”

“—or we can stay right here if you want,” Jared finds himself rambling. “The couch is big enough for me to…I mean, I’ve had sex on it before. Is that too weird to say? It’s not like we’ve been dating that long and I’ve had—”

“Jared!” This time Jensen follows his name with a soft tap on the shoulder. His green eyes are soft, the smooth surface of his gaze disturbed as if by an invisible ripple. “Did you say ‘dating’?”

Shit. Jared tries to look away but Jensen won’t let him, cupping his cheek.

“Are we dating?” With his other hand, Jensen gestures between their chests. “Is this a _thing_?”

“You picked a really terrible time to ask me that,” Jared groans, adjusting his position on the cushions to give his erection room to breathe.

Jensen mistakes his movement for desperation. “Because you’d rather be having sex?”

“No, I mean”—Jared struggles; of _course_ he’d rather be having sex, but this is important—“because you’re leaving, like, tomorrow and this is the last time I’m going to see you. It’s not fair for me to bring this up right now.”

“What do you mean?” Jensen asks. “You’ll see me after—”

“After the Olympics?” Jared takes over. “I know you won’t be back here after the trials, you’ll be off training with the rest of the team.”

“That’s required.”

“And after London, who knows where you’ll end up, but it probably won’t be here, swimming in my pool every day.”

Jensen shakes his head, amusement quirking the corners of his mouth. “Dude, I’m a _swimmer_. It’s basically the only thing I know how to be. Which means I’ll probably always be swimming somewhere—I can’t just up and stop. And you’re going back to school in, like, a month anyway, so you won’t be at the pool every day either.”

Jared wonders where the conversation got derailed; he has no idea what Jensen’s trying to say. “I’m not trying to lock you into anything,” he offers instead. “You’re gonna have so many options, it’ll be crazy.”

Jensen stares. “Are you saying you _don’t_ want to date me?”

“Are you kidding?” Jared scoffs. “Of course I want to! I got to rescue you from drowning—”

“Hey!”

“—you were willing to hang out with me even with your insane schedule,” Jared continues heedless of the interruptions. He’s on a roll, singing Jensen’s praises with barely a breath in between. “You’re hilarious, dedicated, and so fucking amazing, I feel the need to pinch myself every time I wake up next to you. And, oh yeah! You’re going to win a gold medal at the Olympics this year.”

After all of that, Jensen’s cheeks are lit up with a bashful glow. Jared can’t believe it; here’s a guy whose athletic talent has been celebrated since he was a kid, and he has the nerve to look shy when Jared rattles off compliment after compliment. Damn, Jensen really is _perfect_ for Jared. 

“I guess the bigger question is, do you want to date me?” Jared asks, completely oblivious to the sound of massive Bond-esque destruction coming from the movie.

Jensen’s gorgeous, cheek-to-cheek smile is confirmation enough, and Jared’s heart is suddenly lighter than air, rescuing him from the deep, turbulent waters of uncertainty.

“You’re right,” Jensen finally says. “If I can win the trials—”

“Which you will,” Jared adds, sincerity in his voice when he says, “I hope I don’t see you until you’re back from London.”

“And you’ll still want this?” In this moment, the cocky swimmer has disappeared, leaving only a regular guy pleading for affection. Instead of breaking Jared’s heart; it gives him hope. “When I get back?”

“Maybe,” Jared says, tilting his head for a kiss that will soften his teasing and give Jensen his real answer. “Only if you win a gold medal.”

“Oh yeah?” Jensen questions before he’s consumed by the kiss, too. This time around, the sweetness lingers. Nothing too chaste (where’s the fun in that?), but Jared finds himself focusing on Jensen’s lips, shaping his own around their fullness and curves, tilting to the side to kiss the corners of Jensen’s mouth. While Jared’s thusly distracted, Jensen murmurs, “what if I win two?”

Jared’s lips hover over Jensen’s. “Then I’ll let you tell everyone that you’ve hooked the hottest lifeguard in Texas.”

He’s not sure why he says it—thinks about unsaying it before Jensen has a chance to respond, because he doesn’t want that weight on Jensen’s shoulders; doesn’t want to send him off with the pressure of coming out. He meant to tease Jensen, not force him to redefine himself. But Jensen doesn’t let him struggle with it for long, taking all of that potential energy he’d stored up from Jared’s light kisses and turning it around. In a flash, Jared’s on his back on the couch with Jensen on top of him, smiling the kind of smile that transforms someone’s face from happy to _radiant_. 

And he’s still grinning when he dips low and says, “It’s a deal.”

The rest of their night is not something Jared’s likely to forget anytime soon. He hasn’t bottomed for anyone since Dylan—and even then, the occasions were rare and uncomfortable on account of his ex-boyfriend’s lack of experience when it came to topping—but something about Jensen and the way he’s so willing to let go has Jared willing and ready to give it up. 

Jensen’s never hidden the fact that he enjoys switching—“Why limit yourself to one kind of pleasure?” he’d said when Jared asked his preference—which is something Jared isn’t used to. Thanks to his size and stature, Jared tended to attract more bottoms than tops, and while he never intentionally limited his relationships, it was easier to top when it came to casual hookups. Trust comes with knowledge, and the majority of Jared’s encounters never strayed beyond first names and “your place or mine?”

But Jensen’s intimately familiar with Jared’s personality at this point, and the same can be said for his body. This step isn’t the final frontier—Jared has the feeling Jensen can be endlessly creative when it comes to sex—but it’s a major milestone in the relationship, and now that Jensen’s said he’ll come back to Jared, he’s that much more comfortable giving himself over.

“God, Jared!” Jensen keens while Jared’s throat constricts around his cock. “If you keep that up, this is never going to happen.”

Jared smirks around his mouthful; no one said he had to be a _submissive_ bottom. He fucking loves seeing/hearing/feeling Jensen fall to pieces around him, and he’d wanted a preview just in case his brain is incapable of remembering sensations later.

“Seriously,” Jensen groans, trying to pull Jared’s head away, “I might only have one round in me, and so help me God if you let me come—”

Jared pops off with a purposefully obscene slurp. “We definitely don’t want that,” he mocks, laughing as Jensen gets to his knees on the bed (which is finally seeing some action tonight) and pushes Jared onto his back. “You’d better make this a gold medal performance, so I’ll have something to remember you by.”

That taunt sends Jensen into motion. Their foreplay has been extensive, starting on the couch, clothes littering the hallways like a sordid treasure map, ending in the bedroom where, naked, Jared has teased and primed Jensen for the last half hour. The cock grinding into his upper thigh is harder than he’s ever felt it, slippery and hot, leaving streaks of precome on his skin. Jared doesn’t mind the mess—being marked—so swept up in the moment that every little sensation pulls him further into abandon. He wants; he wants it all so _damn_ bad. His mouth is watering as Jensen kisses him with wide open lips, his words cut off before he can demand that Jensen fuck him already.

But Jensen gets the message. “You have no damn patience,” he mutters as Jared pushes him away and slaps around for the lube he’d set out earlier.

“Guess I thought you _wanted_ to have sex,” Jared says, watching through half-lidded eyes while Jensen slicks his fingers.

“Just coming up with ways to torment you.” 

Cool, blunt fingertips walk their way behind Jared’s balls, Jensen’s breath hot against Jared’s pointed knee. The position of their bodies takes some getting used to. On the rare occasions Jared has bottomed, he’s usually standing, pressed against a wall or bent over a table—anything to keep him pinned or make him appear smaller. Even flipped on his stomach, partly for comfort, Dylan had liked keeping pressure on his shoulders, pushing him into their sheets. But Jensen doesn’t restrict him, lets him lay back into the cushion of pillows and spread his legs while Jensen’s fingers twist and scissor within him. It’s open, exposed, but also reassuring. Jensen lets Jared move, lets him see the reactions as they cross Jensen’s face. If they had more time, Jared could imagine himself getting used to this.

“Three enough?”

It takes Jared a few seconds to reengage his brain and decipher what Jensen’s asking about. “Been a while,” he says, “but yeah, I’m good.” He means it; Jensen’s fingers leave no space for air, filling him up with steady strokes, glancing across his prostate every minute or so just to see Jared’s muscles seize with the pleasure that’s gradually cooling the burn of the stretch.

“Like this?” Jensen asks, kneeling up between Jared’s thighs.

Jared nods; for once, this position feels _right_. “Yeah, Jen. C’mon.”

But Jensen’s in no hurry as he takes the condom Jared laid out, slippery fingers struggling with the packet while he draws deep, measured breaths. Jared realizes that Jensen is taking pains to control himself, and that’s a whole new kind of turn-on.

“I want this,” he says, ready with intensity in his eyes when Jensen looks up. “I want to feel this after you’ve gone, and when I can’t feel it anymore, I’m gonna call you and tell you how much I miss it.”

Jensen curses, no more than a hiss escaping between his teeth, but Jared hears it and smirks. He doesn’t know which chunk of gray matter is responsible for the words—arousal or affection—but they keep coming.

“Like that idea? Me calling to tell you everything I’ve thought about doing to you?” Jared has to cut himself off when Jensen pushes in, the swimmer’s bottom lip slack as Jared does his best to take his dick in one stroke. He’s grateful when Jensen doesn’t pause—he wants to be filled as quickly as possible; start working through the strain and discomfort so they can get to the good stuff. Jared knows the burn will fade from this memory, leaving only the expression on Jensen’s face—wide-eyed and reverent—and finer details such as the way he can see Jensen’s elbows quaking as he holds himself over Jared, the sweat on his smooth chest.

“Promise to call,” Jensen says when he’s seated, “and I promise to let you do whatever you want to me when I get home.”

Jared throws his head back against his pillows as pain explodes into pleasure with a deliberate shift of Jensen’s hips. He’d forgotten about this part, prostate tripped like a landmine, when sensation’s stripped raw and consuming. A handful of random partners since Dylan, and Jared never felt like this with any of them. Part of him is glad he hadn’t, making this monumental in comparison.

“ _To_ you?” Jared quips once his lungs cooperate. “You’re just gonna lie there and take it?” And then his lips are smothered as Jensen kisses him silent, something Jared immediately realizes has been missing from this experience so far. Jensen refuses to relinquish possession of his mouth as he begins to rock in and out of Jared’s body (possibly to prevent him from teasing Jensen any more), but Jared can’t bring himself to care. He curls his tongue around Jensen’s and draws it deeper, the same way his body’s encouraging Jensen to thrust even harder.

Finally, Jensen breaks away. “You’d be disappointed if I did,” he says, joining Jared in mocking their first ‘date.’ His hips gain momentum, the bedspring symphony getting louder as Jensen really puts his back into fucking Jared through the mattress.

And it’s perfect. Jared never loses focus on the act—unable to drift off and romanticize about their physical connection. It’s too visceral, and gliding along the fine line between agony and ecstasy forces him to remain present. This time there are no anthems playing back in his mind, only groans and nonsensical whispers accompanying the creak and thud of Jared’s bed protesting the burden being placed on it. Jared’s cock is full again, the blood kept away by discomfort now pouring through the floodgates, leaving his dick hot and leaking where it slaps against his stomach.

Somehow missing that key piece of evidence, Jensen curls down over Jared’s torso, his lips bitten and blood-heavy, and asks, “Like that?”

_Like_? Jared can barely string together two coherent thoughts. The furthest he gets is a nod and a garbled plea for Jensen not to stop before the swimmer adjusts his angle; the resulting thrusts have Jared seeing the stars _and_ stripes behind his eyelids. Not to mention the skin-friction surrounding his cock where it’s tightly confined between Jensen’s abs-of-steel and his own. Constant pressure, as good as a hand wrapped around his dick, drags Jared closer and closer to orgasm.

He might warn Jensen that he’s coming, or the words might be lost between overloaded synapses. Either way, Jared races to the finish ahead of Jensen. With medal-worthy accuracy, Jensen nails Jared’s prostate more than once as he’s coming apart, gifting Jared with the longest orgasm he can remember having (and one that’s sure to cost him a few brain cells). 

He rides the high as long as he can, but bliss inevitably sours, and Jared can’t help wincing through Jensen’s next few deep pushes. And that, Jensen doesn’t miss.

“Fuck,” Jensen groans as he pulls out, eyes clenched shut. “Sorry.”

Grappling with arms and legs, Jared tries to pull Jensen back to him, panting. “No, no, no. I’ll be fine if you want to—”

But Jensen’s carefully peeling the condom off, folding down onto his hands and knees over Jared. “It’s okay, I know it can be uncomfortable, and I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, kissing Jared slowly while his unaffected erection drags along Jared’s stomach.

The feeling of Jensen’s cock painting pictures with Jared’s come gives him an idea, and before Jensen can properly catch his breath, Jared is licking his palm and shoving it down between them. “Come on me,” he says.

“Jared—” 

“I want you to.”

And Jared figures Jensen can’t argue with _that_ , so he begins stroking him off quickly, no thought given to ramping up the pleasure first. Jared goes right back to the speed with which Jensen had been fucking him, throwing a twist of his wrist in here and there and watching Jensen’s face flush redder. With that level of stimulation, it doesn’t take long for Jensen to come. In spurts that pull Jensen’s spine tight, warm drops falling on Jared’s stomach and spotting up along his sternum. Jared’s a mess, for sure, but it’s worth it to catch the flash of naked, unguarded affection and adoration in Jensen’s eyes. It illuminates what no amount of circular conversation could: Jensen cares about him. Maybe it goes even further, but Jared won’t ask for the words. Seeing it now, when Jensen’s unable to protect himself, is more than enough.

“God _damn_ , that felt good.”

Jared’s in violent agreement and a contented sigh whistles past his lips as Jensen flops beside him on the bed. He feels the sweat beginning to cool under his back, shuffling towards a drier spot on the sheet which brings him closer to Jensen. They rest in companionable silence for a few minutes, nudging elbows every so often as they remember some very recent, _very_ pleasant sensations, but Jared knows Jensen can’t linger long—his family (not to mention his coach) must be waiting for him. 

So it’s comes as a shock when Jensen eventually rolls against Jared’s side and says, “I guess I’m buying breakfast in the morning.”

“Huh?”

Jensen props himself up on one elbow. “I’m the guest, not to mention I _topped_ ”—he adds with a smirk—“so I’m buying pancakes, right?”

It’s adorable that pancakes have already become their tradition, but Jared veers past that. “I didn’t think you’d be able to stay here tonight. Isn’t Jeff expecting you to be at home?”

Jensen yawns. “What’s it matter? Either way I’m in a bed, unless you want me to waste precious sleeping time driving back to my place. And I don’t plan on going anywhere in the morning without pancakes and a veggie omelet, so…”

Jared doesn’t let him get any further. Knowing he gets Jensen until the sun comes calling, he wraps the swimmer up in his arms and rolls them until Jensen’s curled up as the little spoon.

“Spooning?” Jensen huffs. “Really?”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Jared replies, nuzzling against the back of Jensen’s neck, smelling beyond the sweat and ever-present chlorine to the man beneath.

“Better start being nicer to me,” Jensen says quietly. “Pretty soon, I’ll be a gold medalist.”

Jensen might be able to feel the smile on Jared’s face where it’s pressed against his skin, but he says nothing. And Jared has no doubt that Jensen’s life is about to change in some unbelievable ways, or that he’ll continue to be a part of it, no matter what.

 

**EPILOGUE.**

After his astronomical success at the Olympic trials, Jensen’s tapped for multiple endorsement deals, which isn’t a surprise given his on-and-off camera personality. Not to mention his looks, capable of emptying the wallets of millions of soccer moms and gay men across the USA. Jensen mocks the entire process and the resulting ads in texts, but Jared knows how grateful he is, needing the money to pay his coaches and travel expenses. Everything Jensen has is invested in swimming, but the endorsements will buy him a breath of freedom when London is over and the results are in the books.

Jared, well…Jared _loves_ the endorsements. He makes it a point to grab dinner from Subway when he leaves the pool, and since his high school buddy Tyson is the night manager, he always walks away with Jensen’s face. Printed on a collector’s cup, that is. By the night of the opening ceremonies, Jared has six cups, and he emails a photo to Jensen every time he adds a new one.

But the commercials are the best part. The first time Jared sees Jensen’s shampoo commercial, he laughs. Hard not to when he’s listening to Jensen’s country-rough voice (slightly exaggerated) explaining his pre-race ‘confidence’ rituals, which apparently include moisturizing shampoo according to the thirty-second ad spot. After that though, Jared’s libido joins the program and notices that, yeah, Jensen’s naked down to his killer hipbones (strategic marketing decision—Jared now wants to spend his entire paycheck on _this_ shampoo), which means seeing _leagues_ of skin Jared hasn’t gotten to touch in weeks.

Jared watches the commercial over and over, chubs up every time it’s played during primetime coverage. Thank god he doesn’t have a roommate, because jacking off to a commercial probably lands in the territory of ‘weird’, but Jared can’t help himself.

Jensen. Naked. Wet. _Rubbing himself_. Jared’s hand is pushing into his loose jeans before he consciously knows he’s doing it, teasing his cock in thirty-second bursts. For the rest of his life, Jared’s going to own one hell of a shower fetish, but it’s hard to care when he’s this hard, suffocating his cock in the tight smother of his own grip while imagining Jensen’s there with him. In his fantasy, the swimmer is as wet as he is on the high-definition, LED screen, letting Jared grind against those slick, borderline-illegal hipbones, muttering all kinds of filth in counterpoint to his clean, fresh lips. The thought of rutting into those sculpted grooves brings Jared to the sharp drop quickly (thighs locked, ass up, barely touching the couch), and then he hears Jensen’s voice on television and orgasm tears through him like a shark through water. Fucking _intense_.

Jared blisses out for a full two minutes before he can refocus, realizing he’s sitting on the couch, pants open and come all over his fingers and belly, and Bob Costas is now on his screen. Costas has his moments, but no, this is _not_ okay, and Jared quickly rolls off the sofa and hurries to the bathroom. (In the words of _Finding Nemo_ : Good feeling gone!) When he comes back to primetime, they’ve finally circled around to the swimming events, and the rest of Jared’s night is set. Jensen might not be in the pool tonight, but he’s in the arena watching, and Jared wouldn’t miss a moment of coverage for the world.

~~~

On the day of Jensen’s 100-meter breaststroke final, Jared’s a wreck. He knows exactly what time the gun’s set to go off, but he keeps his phone in hand all morning; the minutes slink towards 2:15 at an agonizing pace. He’s jumpy, short-focused, and there’s a pit in his stomach, and all he has to do is _watch_ the race. Jared can’t imagine what Jensen’s going through.

The texts Jensen had sent from London that morning were silly, irrelevant—focused anywhere but on the race of his life. His first medal race (hopefully to be followed by two more, the 200-meter breaststroke and the medley relay), and if he wins here it would silence the critics and doubters who believed he was too old to win at this level.

In the end, the race lasts less than a minute (the most torturous sixty seconds Jared has ever sat through) while his eyes are glued to the four-inch screen in his hands. The noises of the pool—splash, splatter, and swoosh—are smothered by the roar of the Olympic crowd through his tiny speakers, matched by the ringing in his ears. Jared holds his breath for the last fifteen meters, heart beating in rhythm with Jensen’s sculling strokes. And when the American flag pops up in Jensen’s lane along with a gold circle, Jared lets much more than just a breath go. All of the anxiety, melancholy, and stress he’s shouldered for nearly a month is released from his shoulders when he sees Jensen’s name at the top of the screen.

On the other side of the pool, Katie (hovering over her own phone) lets out a shriek that grabs everyone’s attention, and she wastes no time shouting the race results to the entire pool. When kids, teenagers, and adults begin cheering for their hometown son, Jared realizes he’s been crying, momentarily overwhelmed by happiness and unspeakable relief. Hoping no one sees, he discreetly wipes his eyes with his towel and turns back to the coverage on his phone, where Andrea Kramer has just pulled Jensen aside for a post-race interview.

_”Jensen, this win has to mean so much to you.”_

Jensen, red-faced and dripping from head to toe, flashes a mile-wide grin. His chest is still heaving with adrenaline and exertion as he says, “It definitely does. I worked hard to get here, but having so many people say I was too old to really have a shot at a medal only made me more determined.”

_”Well, your work certainly paid off. This was also the first time you were able to outrace Kitajima in international competition. What does that mean to you?”_

Jared rolls his eyes. Interviews are always so lame, but nothing short of a pool catastrophe could make him stop watching.

Jensen runs his fingers through his wet, spiky hair, green eyes sparkling as he waves to someone beyond the camera. “You know, Kitajima’s a great guy, and an incredible swimmer, and this is probably gonna motivate him even more to beat me in the 200 later this week, but what can I say? That’s how we work.”

_”So besides silencing your critics and setting you up as a favorite in the 200-meter breaststroke, what’s the best thing about winning this gold medal?”_

“Well…” Jensen reaches around to scratch the back of his neck, clearly debating his response, and Jared’s world narrows as he waits. He _knows_ that expression on Jensen’s face—biting his lip, cheeks pulled in, consideration in his eyes—the swimmer’s about to drop something big. Jensen takes a deep breath and smiles again. “There’s a guy back in Texas who has to go out with me now that I’ve won a gold medal, so I’d say that’s pretty good.”

Andrea, naturally, is speechless. Her microphone sits under her lips, catching the rowdy sounds of the aquatic center while Jensen grins and waves to the fans still cheering his name. A second later, Jensen grabs the microphone and says, “If I win two golds, I’ll tell y’all who he is!”

He winks and disappears, leaving one stunned sports journalist in his wake. Jared can’t help laughing, tears back in his eyes because there’s no way he can contain the emotion washing over him. Another shriek from Katie draws Jared’s eyes up and he sees her gaping and pointing at him from across the pool.

“Jared!” she shouts. “Get your butt over here right now!”

And Jared just keeps on laughing, imagining what it feels like to win a gold medal. This, he figures, must come pretty damn close.

 

FIN.

 

**notes.** I started this while the Olympics were still on television, which tells you just how long it's been sitting around. Initially, it was meant to be a short story - a few vignettes connected, but then grew larger. Then, it was meant to be MORE involved, with cracks about Nathan Adrian's sexuality, the Call Me Maybe video, and phone sex during the trials in Omaha. But I've had such a busy season that the fic sat and lingered, and eventually I finished it with the epilogue instead, and I feel like I was able to do it justice this way.

Thank you for reading! Comments and concrit are welcome and appreciated. Flailing about Jensen Ackles in a Speedo is also acceptable. ;)


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